


manus ad regem

by ProwlingThunder



Series: coronas regenerationem contritos [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ardyn is a flighty box of crazy, Blind Character, Blind Ignis Scientia, Disabled Character, Identity Issues, M/M, Memories, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Recovered Memories, Reincarnation, Spoilers: Altissia Arc, Trauma Wakes Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22301947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: Putting on the ring causes Ignis to remember things he forgot.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia/Ignis Scientia, Ardyn Izunia/Original Male Character
Series: coronas regenerationem contritos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605322
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	manus ad regem

**Author's Note:**

> One of a line of reincarnation fics I did for my Contritum Coronam verse (the heavily AU backstory of Ardyn that will mostly never be seen.) What if his husband Ustrina reincarnated as Ignis? What if Ignis remembers only after the Lucii burns him?
> 
> Reincarnation: Ustrina reincarnates as Ignis.

He doesn't remember immediately. It comes back to him slowly, digging through the weight of pain and the fire in his eyes and in his veins, savaging him to the core. _Is_ and _was_ don't mesh neatly together, muddied with drugs and agony. Memory came back in flashes; sometimes Noctis, unconscious and pale on the wet stone, dark hair matted by saltwater. Sometimes Ravus, agony sketched onto his features, taking in the sight of his baby sister, lifeblood staining the Altar of the Leviathan. His own shaking fingers as he held a small child in his arm, the warm bloom of something unfathomable in his chest; other times, they are steady and withered as he clasps them gently around a friend's own, and closes his eyes, and leans in--

It comes back in pieces. More than once he wakes up breathing the name of his king, and always a strong hand on his shoulder presses him back into the bedding and tells him what must be true--

The pain does not abate, but it does subside. A bit. Wrapping encases his face, his eyes. Down his throat and itches across his chest and down his arm. One whole side is numb from shoulder to tip.

The power of Kings, Ignis knows. Punishment for putting on the Lucii, even to save Noctis' life. Even to fight _Ardyn--_

 _I fought Ardyn,_ he thinks, stomach clenching, and he curls over himself to vomit over the edge of the mattress. He hopes someone put a bucket there, because someone comes to check on him before he’s even done. The hand on his shoulder is strong and broad, achingly familiar, and he could weep at the touch. How long had it been since someone had been there to support him in a time of weakness? How long had it been since he had been in a situation where showing such things was safe? He sucked a breath and tried to ignore the sour taste on his tongue. “How--”

“He’s fine,” the familiar stranger told him, helped him sit up and pressed something cool into his hands. “It’s water. I wish you’d think about yourself a little more, Ignis.” Sip, rinse, spit into the bucket again. Breathe. Gently sip. “The docs say he’ll be fine with rest. Combat fatigue, some injuries characteristic of a serious battle. But you…”

He considers the way he’s half-mummified, fit for a tomb, and knows he has lost something great, but not something he could not afford to lose. If Somnus could not break his spirit before, he will not let it break now. “No price is too great for my king.”

The grip on his shoulder tightens fractionally. “Damn it, Ignis, he’s not acting like much of a _king.”_

He-- Gladio-- cannot understand. So Ignis breathes out and lets it go, satisfied, at least, that his king yet lives.

His vision does not come back. But the next time he hears his Majesty’s voice, hears the laugh that sends shivers up his spine, he limps away from Gladio and Prompto and the almost painful warmth of the Crystal where inside rests a young king, chasing swaying vestiges of footfalls as quick as he dares. When they stop, he can still hear Gladio’s swearing, though it’s distant. Can hear Prompto’s alarmed question of where he is. But it’s Ardyn’s voice he focuses on, honey-sweet as the healer turns to face him. He squares his shoulders, his jaw. “Ah Ignis. Brave hand of the king, even still. Didn’t the Ring punish you enough for trying to stop me?”

He’s still Ignis, on the surface. Ignis’ body, Ignis’ life and memories at the forefront. But he remembers being someone else, before, traversing through the woods with a husband to fight a plague none of them knew enough about, a trip into the dungeons upon which the Citadel was built, then being locked away in a spire as it grew, overlooking a kingdom that he could barely influence as a traitor sat on a throne which was not his.

He remembered wives, and babies.

His vision is a small price to pay to regain what he had lost. “He isn’t Somnus,” Ignis tells him instead of answering. Tries to gather up fragmented memories into something cohesive; he doesn’t have a lot of time.

“That doesn’t matter.”

No, it doesn’t, does it? Ignis frowned. “I don’t know what happened-- Somnus swore you lived as long as I obeyed, but Luce said he and Gil watched your execution--"

A growl. A threat. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know, boy.”

Ignis clutched his cane and forged on. “I didn’t know until later-- I was old-- if I had known-- Ardyn if we could have found you--”

“Enough!” His glasses clattered to the ground somewhere nearby. A burning pain against his cheek, in the rough shape of a handprint. No claws. Somehow, he had expected claws. “You know _nothing!”_

“I know your favorite color is green,” he whispered, voice shaking. He heard Ardyn startle, take a step back. “I know the shape of your soul is a great serpent, and your Arm was a Solsteel bow-blade. I know you and I were in the city when Somnus struck his coup-- that I loved you until I died--”

“No,” a tortured sound, like heartbreak, and Ignis reached out--

“Ignis!” Footsteps from behind, running.

“Ignis! You shouldn’t run off like that, there could still be daemons around! What were you thinking?!”

\--but Ardyn was gone.

For ten years, there’s no hide nor hair of Ardyn, and the next time they meet, it’s far too late to say anything.


End file.
